A/N: Actually, I ship Frostiron like crazy, but this story somehow wanted to be Loki/OC (it might have something to do with the fact the idea had started growing in my mind before I saw the Avengers and started shipping Fristiron ...But I do have a Frostiron story written, too). There is quite some Stark in it, though. As for the OC ... Well, it's hard to say. I've seen like a gazillion of stories where the OC is something special, e.g. special powers, mysterious past, no memories, at least a SHIELD agent ... And I just wanted to let a normal, random girl/woman end up in the whole Avengers-mess, somebody who is there solely by coincidence and has no clue whatsoever, only what little she'd manages to see. Something like that.

Maybe I should mention I've seen another story somewhere out there where the OC has the same first name and almost the same job, but I swear I didn't copy it, I had the idea before seeing the other fic. I don't know what that story is about; I haven't read it on purpose, so if there somehow happens to be something similar, well, not my fault.

What else ... If something seems OOC, it's quite possible it will get explained later. I hope. I also hope you'll forgive me grammatical mistakes (I'm not a native speaker ...).

I don't own anything, picture included, except for my OCs.

Chapter I—Approaching Dusk

Was the site once of a city great and gay,

(So they say)

Of our country's very capital, its prince

Ages since

Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far

Peace or war

Was the site once of a city great and gay,

(So they say)

Of our country's very capital, its prince

Ages since

Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far

Peace or war.

Was the site once of a city great and gay,
(So they say)
Of our country's very capital, its prince
Ages since
Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far
Peace or war.

~Robert Burns: Love Among the Ruins

Rebecca could smell fire. Her fear intensified, but she didn't look for flames; there was no time. She heard her own heart hammer past echoing screams, and explosions, and crashes of collapsing buildings. People were teeming like a swarm of bees, only there was no order, just panic dictating their movements. She cursed when she bumped into somebody yet again, staggered, and continued to run, but couldn't blame them; she, too, was just one of the panicked creatures.

The burn in her lungs barely registered. She squinted over her shoulder, expecting another energy blast every moment, then plastered her back against the nearest wall when she saw no immediate threat. She shook her phone furiously, willing it to turn on, begging it to turn on, hoping there was an extra percent of energy left somewhere in the stupid battery that had chosen the worst possible moment to die. But, there wasn't.

She ran.

She didn't quite understand what was happening. These… These aliens had come out of nowhere, sending Manhattan into the air and its residents into frenzy. She only knew she was running the wrong way, towards the chaos instead of away from it—the stream of people had told her so much—but what could she do?

She had to meet her sister and Dean, and now that her phone had died she had no way of changing the location and could only hope they'd be there. In wasn't far anymore. There—she could see the Starbucks sign already.

An extra burst of energy spurred her tired legs. She dashed forward, already there, already pressing her palms against the glass—the only thing that was separating her from Leah—relief already taking over, when her sister screamed. Her voice barely reached Rebecca's ears, but the letter knew it was her name on those lips, and Leah's terror-wide eyes made her turn around—

To see one of those flying things approaching the coffee shop with dangerous speed. Adrenalin, only having her survival in mind, took over, and she half jumped half staggered away, though still looking back, and her eyes landed on a short-ish man, clad in black, who was standing some thirty feet away. The arrow he shot was too fast to see; her mind had reached the conclusion only from seeing his bow and his movements.

The alien ship turned to fly parallel with the buildings, inches away from where she'd been standing, coming towards her.

The arrow hit.

Nothing happened.

Rebecca's jaw was locked tight with fear.

Then—

The arrow exploded.

A raw scream worked its way out of her throat. She was thrown backwards, but she still saw the ship explode and crash into the glassy window. Then, there was another explosion, another, another …

Air was knocked out of Rebecca's lungs when her back met the ground none too gently. The air was knocked out of her lungs even as her lips desperately parted to suck it in again.

Her eyes went wide. A concrete plate towered above her for a second, all jagged edges, small flames somehow clinging to it—

Before it was jerked away as if someone had grabbed it in mid-air and pulled it away, which was, of course, impossible, and yet concrete and metal were floating above her. She saw another ship fly close by, but instead of monsters, there was a man on it, all black with flashes of green, and the concrete moved even as his hand moved …

Finally a breath filled her lungs. Then darkness claimed its toll.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

"I am a god, you dull creature!" He threw his arm out, face contorted in anger. "And I will not be bullied by—"

The world spun much too fast. And then—

He heard the impact more than he felt it. The cracking must have come from the concrete. Maybe. It was all too fast, all wrong.

Then—

Nothing. Everything went still. For a moment, he was completely numb. It could not last, though. Pain flared up in his body, and he would have screamed if there was air in his lungs, if he could draw in a breath. It felt like there were spikes driven through his torso, and twisted. Every inch of his back was on fire. His limbs, however. He couldn't move them. Couldn't move anything. Didn't even feel them.

Somehow, he knew his eyes were opened. Whiteness, blackness, it mattered not; he wasn't seeing anything. He wasn't thinking. He just was.

Somehow.

Then finally, finally, he managed to suck in a breath. White hot pain seared his chest. There was nothing but pain. It was all-consuming and ever-present, and there was nothing else.

Until fear.

With fear came realisations. With them, knowledge. He called his magic desperately, pulling it to his body, sending tendons of it into his shattered backbone to repair what he could.

Blacking out was not an option. He needed to know what was happening outside. Control, that was what he needed, especially now when everything seemed to be slipping through his fingers. He needed to be out there to prove things to himself and everybody else. To save himself in every sense of the words. Instead, he was lying in the ground, still unable to move.

Time was running out.

~*oO*o*Oo*~

Tony Stark didn't know what had made him come out here. At first, he'd just wanted to be done with it all. Dealing with Loki had been tedious enough after all his energy had been consumed by fighting. He'd stuck around, watching Thor produce some magic handcuffs and SHIELD add a muzzle—why the hell did they even have muzzles?—and then arguing furiously when they'd asked him to let Loki be kept at his place overnight since SHIELD's facilities had been blown up. Tony had been overpowered and eventually agreed to taking Loki to his tower after SHIELD had promised to get him their second and last cage meant for Hulk. There was no gaping hole under this one, but it would have to do, they'd said.

So, he now had a defeated and most likely vengeful God of Mischief and a couple of unnaturally strong guys hanging around, and suddenly the idea of helping to clean up the city didn't sound so bad at all. Steve had been planning to go at first, but leaving Thor as the only guard for Loki seemed unnerving despite the shackles, and the cage, and whatnot. And, Tony had suddenly had a really strong urge to get away from all that.

Not that he was doing much cleaning as it was. It was just him, hiding behind sunglasses and a baseball cap, no armour. Most of the time he just strolled through half-destroyed streets, helping somebody lift a piece of concrete here or there. The police was out, working, the military, the volunteers, pretty much everybody was here. If he looked long enough, he'd probably find Natasha and Clint out here, too. Or maybe, Fury had sent them on vacation …

Darkness was slowly falling, settling over the city that never slept. Maybe it would tonight. Tony couldn't imagine all the bright coloured signs lightening the streets again, or people dancing the night away. They might drink, and drink they would, but not like that. He himself was planning on locking himself in the darkest room his tower had to offer. Somehow, it came as a relief that the streets were now dusky, grey, devoid of their usual pulse. They'd lost lives today; it was only appropriate for the city to mourn.

Ruins filled his vision field wherever he looked. This particular street was no exception. It still looked like any other, even with no people cleaning it, yet. That was part of the reason he'd directed his feet this way. A little silence felt good. A little solitude. It was bad enough he felt like a stranger in his own city, he didn't need the feeling of being surrounded by people and yet completely alone on top of it …

A lone feminine figure in the distance brought his feet to a stop. She was standing amid the ruins, unmoving, distant, staring at what used to be a tall building.

Tony moved to approach her. Something was off, he noticed even as his eyes were sliding over her jean-clad legs and the short, light beige coat hanging around her body. As he got closer, he got a look at her profile, taking in her chocolate brown hair cut in layers, the lower ones interlaced with strands of metal blue—the colour reminded him on the glow of his own arch reactor—and a big grey purse hanging on her shoulder. Then, little more than five feet away, he came to a halt and gently coughed.

The woman spun around slowly. Her eyes were dark, their colour hidden by dusk, and he grudgingly noticed she was just as tall as him, give or take half an inch. And her face, indicating she was somewhere in mid-twenties, looked strangely familiar.

"Are you okay, miss?" Her fingers were gripping the purse too strongly.

She nodded.

"Sure? You look like you've seen better days."

"Seen them all right, Mr Stark."

"And here I thought I was doing a good job hiding. How rude of you to shatter my illusions. But—let's talk about you for a second. You look familiar. Who are you?"

"Rebecca Reed," she answered slowly. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"No, sorry, doesn't ring a bell." Women didn't like this kind of response, but he truly couldn't categorise her name as familiar, even if it did sound like he'd heard it before. That was the trouble with having been with too many women …

"I work for the New York Times."

"Oh."

Really, he had nothing better to say at first. Then, his brow furrowed.

"Just tell me, did we have sex at some point?"

Rebecca only stared at him.

"I'm seriously asking that." Tony was starting to feel more than a little awkward. If they'd had sex, she'd probably smack him within the next five seconds. If they hadn't … Well, it was better to make a fool out of himself now than deal with a pissed off woman later.

"No," she said finally. "You answered some questions once. At a press conference. No sex."

"Oookay. Good to know. You can forget the question now. I just had to ask."

"No worries. Your reputation is quite known."

"Which one?" He curled the corner of his mouth. The woman stared at him again, her gaze bordering on glaring.

"Don't try to flirt with me."

"Ah, it's the bad one then. Well, I should try to convince you to change your opinion …"

"Mr Stark."

That was the only thing she said, but it kicked the shit out of him.

"Sorry. Rough day. You know, the whole save-the-world routine. Not exactly the best psychological stability."

"Ditto to that," she mumbled, looking distressed again. Something was certainly troubling her.

"Not the easiest day for you, too, was it?"

A slight shake of her head was all he got.

"I thought I'd help to put the city back in order," he said for the sake of keeping silence at bay. It felt good talking to somebody who was not connected to the whole superhero thing.

"Not putting much in order right now, hm?"

"No. I think I'm better at founding things. And you, Ms, um, New York Times?"

"Rebecca," she corrected, but her heart wasn't in it; she didn't seem bothered. That was something new in women.

"Rebecca. Why are you out here?"

"I was thinking," she said vaguely, but her eyes, which slipped to the ruins again, betrayed her. Tony pretended not to have noticed. He sighed.

"You can say that again. Today gave us all enough to think about to keep us busy for a dozen years or so. Perhaps I should retire earlier to get sufficient time for it …"

Maybe staring was her substitute for raising eyebrows. No, wait, she finally arched her left eyebrow a little. Very little. Weird facial expressions. He hoped he hadn't said that out loud. Women usually didn't approve of such—

"I don't think you should." She was looking at him earnestly, and he had to swallow a bitter laugh.

"Well, you're one of the few."

She arched an eyebrow. She finally arched an eyebrow!

"Haven't you turned on the TV lately?"

"I saw the destruction with my own eyes." She shifted uncomfortably. "Why would I want to see it again?"

Tony had to admit she had a point there. And she seemed not to be blaming him and the rest of the Avengers for the destruction of Manhattan. She also seemed lost and vulnerable, and while her blue highlights were definitely not his style, she had pretty brown eyes. Before Pepper, he would have taken her out.

"No." She shook her head and offered a small, sad smile. "Maybe I should have watched. But I … um … I haven't been home yet. And, I wanted to know what happened. I was trying to remember … um …" She smiled the same kind of smile again.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop and actually think about them,

"You can come over for the night if you want."

They only earned him another stare, and it made him want to kick himself. He'd just invited a woman he barely knew over for the night while two of the Avengers were staying with him, Loki was locked up in a cage, Fury was coming over in the morning, and he hadn't even realised his offer had sounded like he was inviting her to his bed until now. But she clearly had. Her eyes suddenly lit up with flames.

"Mr Stark."

This didn't sound good. Then again, he was famous for bad ideas.

"Aren't you supposed to be together with your CEO?"

"Pepper? Yes. Yes. I wasn't asking—look, this just came out wrong, okay? I wanted to make up for my earlier question. I wasn't inviting you to bed or anything."

Her eyes softened and he went on. "I just thought maybe you lived further away and needed somewhere to stay overnight. You can get dinner or something."

Man, he really wasn't good with people. Or relationships. He shouldn't have invited her in the first place. But it would make matters even worse if he withdrew the invitation now, wouldn't it?

"Very kind of you," she said slowly as if she were considering the offer. "Public transportations are a bit of a mess right now, and dinner sounds good. I would like to come. I think."

He managed a quick smile.

Someone should have written a manual on how to stop one's mouth from working faster than the brain. It would be a lifesaver.

A/N: Please review ;)